


Coda

by H4T08



Series: Behind the Door [22]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Episode: s03e15 Coda, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 17:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17902766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H4T08/pseuds/H4T08
Summary: "I didn’t realize until we were in the canoe that my life is a constant stream of codas, repeating the same choices, the same mistakes over and over again until it doesn’t."





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

> After almost a year, I am humbly posting this new story to the series. 
> 
> I have never given up on the series, I had just gotten to a point where I needed to clear my head by working on other projects. I can't tell you how many times I had revised this story before scraping the whole damn thing. 
> 
> I do want to give a shout out to Killermanatee. Her help with the 'Temptations' sequel had left an indelible mark on me as a writer. It is because of her suggestions, I feel like my writing style has changed for the better. 
> 
> However, this also means that the stories I have written out will have to be rewritten. So updates may be slow going. 
> 
> This takes place post "Coda".

“This is simply amazing,” lying back against one of the pillows, Kathryn sips from her glass of champagne.

“You deserve it.” Chakotay’s grin glitters in the hazy moonlight.

She drowns the rest of her champagne, adoring the sparkling bubbles that fizzes on her tongue. “If this is what I get when I die then I—”

“Don’t finish that thought,” Chakotay interrupts, “please.”

Her lungs refuse to release its oxygen, the cool steel in his eyes melting into heartbreak. “I won’t,” she whispers, an apology bitterly hanging on the tip of her tongue, yet she swallows it whole. Swiping the bottle from between their hips, she pours the rest of the champagne into her flute, some of it spilling over the rim.

“Neelix was talking about having a voting booth set up for the next talent night.” Chakotay shifts uncomfortably against her. “He originally wanted to have the winner guest star on his show as a prize, however, Tom Paris put a quick stop to that.”

“Thank goodness for small miracles.” She takes a small sip, the amount of small talk between them grating against her vocal cords. “What will the prize be?”

“A bottle of champagne.” His eyes dart towards the now empty solider between them.

“No,” she can feel her cheeks reddening, her laughter bubbling past her throat, “you’re joking.”

“Yes, I am, but it got you to smile, a genuine one at that too.” Her laughter dies out along the rim of her glass. “We don’t have to continue on with this idleness, Kathryn. We can talk about it, you know.”

“I know.” Her easy-going smile is replaced with a tight one, the gentleness of the waves rocking their canoe competing with the unsteady tension in the air. She hates these jagged serrations that are blooming across their carefully constructed relationship. _Funny how the moment death comes knocking at my door, quite literally, I have this prickling desire to push him away. What is the old saying? ‘Two steps forward and fifty million steps back.’ Something like that, I guess._

“Or we can just move on from this experience.” His brow furrows in steel, yet it’s his voice that gives away his unsteadiness.

If she could get her way, she would just ignore it, bury it deep within her subconscious, these memories only coming out when she is at her lowest point. _At least the Darkness would have something to feast on._ “Fancy a skinny dip into the lake?” She shimmies out of her jacket.

His eyes widen in surprise, whether it’s to the abrupt change of direction in their discussion or her risqué suggestion, she doesn’t know. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

His genuine concern settles uncomfortably against her throat. “On a temperature-controlled holodeck with the safety settings on?” She throws back the rest of her drink, swallowing it whole in one gulp before slipping out of the rest of her uniform. Once she is down to her bra and panties, she pokes his unmoving body with the tip of her toes, “Come along now, Chakotay, we only live once.” Without waiting for his answer, she flips off of the canoe and into water.

“Is the water too cold?”

Floating on her back, she looks up towards the starry night. “It’s perfect.” The buoyancy from the water begins to carry her away from the canoe. If they were back on New Earth, she would have made sure to keep close to him. _But we are nowhere near New Earth. Nowhere near any type of Earth at all._

The splash from the water lets her know that Chakotay is not far behind.

She can feel the numerous questions within the ripples of the water, each one more oppressive than the last. “Race ya to the beach,” she throws over her shoulder as she quickly paddles through the water. For the most part, she can hear his frantic splashes further behind her, yet when she reaches the shallow water, he has nearly caught up to her.

Just as her heels sink into the dry sand, she twirls to find Chakotay slowly climbing out of the water, the small current splashing against his ankles.

Collapsing down onto the impressionable sand, she buries herself so that she can feel each small grain roughly catching her skin, grating along her nerves, yet, it helps to deaden the anxiety that has been pitching against her belly since returning back to Voyager, the real Voyager.

“You hate the sand,” he stands over her, hands on his hips as he catches his breath.

Glancing up along the lean lines of his body, her eyes settle on how his drenched boxers cling to his skin, the delicious curve of his bulge in perfect line sight. _No!_ Looking away from him, she stares at a small patch of land, the grass as peaceful and inviting as the water in the moonlight. “There,” she clears her throat, the roughness of the sand piercing her memories, “there is this lake on Earth that I have been to many times with my family. Last time I checked, which was right before the mission into the Badlands, there was a small slice of property for sale. I want us to buy it.”

He settles own next to her; his surprise can be heard through the silence of the thick air between them.

_I am breaking my own damn rule_ , she grits her teeth as tears glaze over her vision, _but after everything, how can I not?_ “I want us to build a house, small, just big enough for us live out the remainder of our lives.” The curling of the apprehension in her stomach finally beginning to calm. “I want our living room filled to the max with large, comfortable couches. I want the biggest replicator in the kitchen. I want our bedroom to have a four-poster bed that you have made by hand with small matching tables on both sides. But most of all, I want all of the windows dressed in blue pinstriped curtains.”

A small tear lazily traces down her cheek, the tension between them beating wildly, as if the entity of death that had taken the form of her father is still there, reminding her that death will always be certain, her choices, no matter how brash, will always repeat itself. “Okay.”

And just like that, within the span of that one word, euphoria makes its triumphant return back into her soul. She looks back at him, a small smile tugging at her lips, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“This a picture of me and my father,” Kathryn holds out the frame for Chakotay to take. It had taken her hours after coming back from the lake program a few days ago to find it hidden under a pile of clothes and books in her trunk.

She stares at him looking at the picture, memorizing the way his eyes soften at such a delicate treat. “You look a lot like him.”

“My family had always said that I took after him while my sister had taken after my mom, which is funny because I think Phoebe and I look like twins.” She shrugs her shoulder, “She has bigger boobs than I do.”

He laughs out loud at the roll of her eyes.

“We butted heads a lot,” her eyes shift down towards the photo, “my father and I. We were both extremely stubborn, my father more so than me.”

“I remember when the Enarans were on board, you had said that you had a falling out with your father when it came to the Academy, but that you made up.”

“He wanted me to follow his rules, his ideals, his dreams, when I had dreams of my own. Every little thing I did, all the projects and science experiments and awards I had won, only boosted this grandiose idea that I wanted to join Starfleet as soon as I could.”

His brow slightly dips, “From what I have noticed since joining your crew, you enjoy your time as both the Captain of this vessel as well as a Starfleet Officer. You take pride in it.”

“Now I do, but when I was seventeen, I just wanted to party and go out with friends and have boyfriends. Growing up in a Starfleet family, they prepare both the officer and their families to expect the worse. I just wanted to live a little before dedicating the rest of my life to Starfleet.”

“It’s funny,” he smiles but his eyes are a million miles away, “I was the complete opposite. I wanted nothing more than to join the Academy the first chance I had, while my father was completely against it.”

Kathryn captures the photo frame and leans back into the sofa, her bare feet hitching up onto the coffee table. “That entity had taken the form of my father,” she runs the edge of her nail along the smiling faces looking up at her. “The last time I had seen him was right before he died.”

Taking a deep breath, he leans back next to her, “That must have been hard to see him.”

“He had told me that I was dead, but, in true Janeway fashion, I fought him tooth and nail,” she presses her lips into a thin, white line before tossing the frame onto the cushion beside her. “At the end, when I was on the verge of giving up on hope, on life, something inside me told me that things were not right, that I was not ready to cross over into this ‘afterlife’.”

“Your mind cannot trick what your soul desires.”

Turning towards him, relief washes through her as she comprehends his words. For the past few days, she had been curious as to what had been nagging her when the hour had reached zero in that carefully constructed version of hell. “Intuition.”

“Many people call it different things,” he covers her hand with his own. “At the root of it all, your mind and your heart can be tricked by your surroundings, but only your soul knows the innerworkings of your body, including the point in which you are to depart this physical world.”

She stares down at their combined hands, “My soul is cruel.” The numerous times she could have – and should have – died replay over and over and over, the darkness slithering out with its keepsakes of her worse memories proudly displayed.

His gentle squeeze pulls her from the mud, “You have talked about a darkness before.”

“Yes,” is all she can muster, the truth of her darkness still too raw, still too bitter. “During that day, everything kept repeating until it didn’t. I didn’t realize until we were in the canoe that my life is a constant stream of codas, repeating the same choices, the same mistakes over and over again until it doesn’t.”

“But you broke through that norm.”

She twists her wrists so that their palms kiss, “Are you going to build that house?”

She can feel the strength of his optimism breaking through the bleakness of her soul, the darkness once again finding refuge within the same dark corner of Tau Ceti Prime. “I have already started on the plans."

“I don’t deserve you,” her voice cracks, “not when I still refuse to give you every part of me." 

He lifts her hand up and kisses her knuckles, “You deserves every inch of bliss that punches through the codas that drag your life into monotony.”

She can give him every reason as to why she should not deserve such luxuries, but then in doing so, she would have to confess of the origins of such vile darkness. A conversation she is already loathing. Instead she picks up a book that she had thought she lost in the quick transition between Alpha and Delta Quadrant. “Have you read it?”

He flips the book to read the title and grins, “I have not, however, thanks to a certain lieutenant for a fondness of everything vintage, I have seen my fair share of movies.”

“They will never do it justice,” she smirks. Opening to the first page, she begins to read aloud, “Letter 1. To Mrs. Saville, England. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kathryn is reading "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley.


End file.
